Directed by William Wyler. Written by Ruth Goetz and Augustus Goetz
We inherit a lot from our parents. Beyond potential heirlooms and knickknacks, how we relate, to others and ourselves, how we move in the world, what we value, the morals we espouse – it’s all learned at a parent’s knee and as we find our footing as individuals, these initial teachings will be the rhythm to which we walk through life.
It has grim consequences in William Wyler’s The Heiress, the story of Catherine Sloper and her father Dr. Austin Sloper. Papa Sloper is a widower and a real prick who can’t draw breath without belittling his only daughter and Catherine is a nub of a person as a result. Awkward, timid, and insecure, Catherine’s very existence puts her on the edge of tears, and despite the overtime put in by her aunt, the world’s best wingwoman, Catherine remains unwed and with few prospects in New York’s social scene.
Then along comes Morris Townsend. He’s back from Europe, very intent on Catherine and his awkward, boyish manners has you thinking maybe these two turtledoves found each other just in time. Morris is broke though, and admits he’s unlikely to ever amount to much, which unsurprisingly has Dr. Sloper unconvinced of his candidacy, but not because he wants someone who can provide for Catherine.
See, Catherine can provide for herself, virtue of the considerable inheritance coming her way, and in the eyes of a man who can only see his daughter’s shortcomings, this inheritance is surely the only reason someone like Morris would want someone like Catherine. You hate to admit it, but you share his suspicions, given the whirlwind nature of the affair and how Catherine’s qualities do need a little patient coaxing to reveal themselves. Is he right, though?
The Heiress is an ostensible romance that lets its mask slip with panache. For a long while it talks of courtship and pretends at love, but as Catherine’s cautionary tale unfolds, Wyler’s direction of the script written by Goetz and Goetz reveals its hard edges with maximum effect. Like someone embracing you just to slide the knife between your ribs when you relax into the hug, this story of how an innocent woman falls prey to the men in her life is all the more potent because you blame your own naivete as well in how you react to it.
Wyler upends you like life upends Catherine. We’re naive, and we want the best for her, this person who by all accounts is pleasant, kind, and wants what everyone wants – to love and be loved. Like her, you might squint at warning signs, and chastise yourself for your cynicism as you watch Catherine smile an honest-to-god happy smile for the first time in probably forever, untensing herself the way an abused dog might once it finally feels safe. Any lessons learned hereafter, for both Catherine and the viewer, are learned the hard way and offer little respite from the sting.
Olivia de Havilland won an Oscar for her role as Catherine, and it’s easy to see why. A performance of transformation, she must first play Catherine as a grown-up girl, far more shy and unsure than her years would suggest, and then harden into something much more tragic. The initial work is convincing, but it’s the later shift that bowls you over.
The Heiress is a moving piece of work defined by its vivid characters and sobering story, casting a glance at its film noir contemporaries to borrow a dark view of some of the most significant relationships known to us. In turn, it paints a portrait sure to yank at your sense of compassion and then leave you awestruck at the monster it creates.
Mikkel Frederiksen 